


Wondrous Wizarding Wheezes: A Parisian Toy Story

by Islanderlass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cursebreakers Galore, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Just not as we know it., Look at the pairings - Freeform, M/M, Multi, No Bashing Whatsoever, Percy Weasley Secret Agent Man, Revival of SPEW, Weasleycest, i know i was surprised too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:06:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Islanderlass/pseuds/Islanderlass
Summary: A few years after the war, it has become increasingly clear that the Weasleys are unhappy. When Molly's children aren't happy, Molly isn't happy. When Molly isn't happy, she makes it Arthur's problem. Arthur, in interest of preserving domestic tranquility, knows he needs to take action. Luckily, he knows just the man for the job: Percy Weasley. Oliver Wood and the rest of Percy's friends take an interest, naturally, because they love the Weasleys as well. (Or, as Percy tells it, they just enjoy driving him to drink.)Or: The greatest joke Fred never got told. Let's Save! Pester! Enjoy! Weasleys!





	1. Molly invades the Shed

**Author's Note:**

> I usually don't go for incest in fanfic, but the Weasleys, for some reason, are an exception. 
> 
> If you've read my other stories, you know I tend to play with fandom ideas and stuff that bothers me in Canon. On the days that I actually bother acknowledging the epilogue, I wonder why the hell everyone would stay in Britain after the war. The Weasleys would be constantly reminded of Fred, and the trio would be hounded by both the public and the ministry. Does that sound like fun to you? No, not to me either.

Someone hammered on the shed door, “Arthur! Arthur, dear, open up!” Molly called.

“Hide!” Hissed Arthur Weasley to his companion, who obligingly crawled under the sink. Arthur stuffed the man’s trailing robes in with him and shut the cupboard door. “Er, one moment, Mollywobbles!” Arthur propped a stack of old text books against the cupboard, which never had hung straight, and hurried to unlock the shed.

Molly pushed past him and put her hands on his hips, surveying his domain with narrowed eyes. “Why was that door locked?” She demanded, turning to him. 

“I didn’t realize I locked it,” said Arthur weakly.

“Oh? Are you sure there wasn’t someone else in here with you?”

“I think I would have noticed that,” he chuckled nervously.

“Oh? So, why do you have two glasses of whisky on the table, then, hmm?”

Arthur nearly confessed, right then and there, but his companion would be right ticked if Arthur betrayed him. So he improvised by going quickly over to the window sill and grabbing two of his miniature rubber duckies (the pirate and the astronaut) to drop into each glass. “Oh, it’s not to drink, dear, it’s just that Hermione told me different liquids have different densities. Muggle science, Mollywobbles, just imagine!” He plopped down on a milk crate and gazed, absorbed, at the rubber duckies. “Do you think they look different than they do in water, sweetie?”

Molly pulled up a stool to sit next to him and considered the ducks for a moment. “No, Arthur, I don’t. Why waste perfectly good whisky—those ducks are absolutely filthy.”

“I’ll pour it back in the bottle, don’t you worry.” She was right. They were disgusting. He probably should hose all of those ducks off.

“You will not! You could catch something, and then where will we be?”

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right, I’ll wash the glasses, duckies, everything,” he began to get up. 

Molly tugged him down again. “Before you do that, I want a word with you.”

“Yes, dear.”

Molly grasped his hands. “Arthur, it’s been four years since the war ended. I thought the children were getting better, but they’re not. Oh, Arthur, Charlie said today he was getting a promotion at Eeylops.”

“You must be proud, dear.” 

She pinched his thigh hard.

“Ow! Woman, that’s husband abuse.”

“Well, try not to be such an arse, dear. Our Charlie, working with post owls? Our Charlie, Beast Master at age twenty, selling kneazles to little old ladies? And then there’s George!”

That, Arthur found too depressing to respond flippantly to. “Yes.” He sighed heavily. Poor George. Wheezes had once been his joy; their little boy found no joy in much of anything anymore.

“And Percy! I really thought he’d learned to loosen up, but he always seems to be doing paperwork these days. Bill tried to take him out for drinks three times this week, and he always says he’s too busy. Bill, his favorite brother!”

“Ministry means paperwork, you know that. Anyway, the only reason Bill has time himself is because he’s still working that desk job.”

“I know,” said Molly, unhappy. “Fleur comes over and shows me her sewing—Arthur, Fleur is barely thirty. She knows more about household charms than I did, and she isn’t trapped in a safe house with six children due to a war. She should be working at a dig in Egypt with Bill, or dancing in a disco in Rome, or I’d even accept her taking her little girls to a ballet in St. Petersburg.”

“Mm,” agreed Arthur. He rather thought Fleur loved her craft projects, but Molly wasn’t wrong about Fleur being far too antisocial. No life for someone his age, let alone Fleur’s, but he understood that Fleur felt deeply uncomfortable in a country where very few Veelas were seen.

“And Harry and Ginny and Hermione and Ronnie!” By the time she’d reached Ron’s name, she was sobbing.

Arthur took her into his arms and rocked her. “Now, there, Mollywobbles, things will turn out all right.”

“Ron and Hermione have studied for their Auror exam for three years, Arthur! Three years! They won’t give up, and they’re going to get themselves killed in the field if they ever pass. I just don’t understand it. Kingsley said himself the written test was a lot of tosh!” 

Arthur grunted. Something was going on there. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d been recruited into the Unspeakables. Croaker had laughed hysterically, and Kingsley had been…furtive…when he’d asked.

“Harry and Ginny,” she hiccuped, “oh, love, to think I once hoped they’d get together and now all I can do is pray they don’t. Our boy is damaged, darling, so damaged. And Ginny…”

“Ginny is a terror,” said Arthur. Her latest thing was to drag Harry into jewelry stores and ramble on about the cuts of diamonds, but Arthur smelled a rat there too. If she wanted to marry the boy, she would have bought him a candy ring and proposed to him during a quidditch match or something.

“Yes,” Molly agreed tearfully. She fished the pirate ducky out of one whisky glass, and threw back the whisky. She gasped a bit at the burn, and then banged the glass on the table. “Arthur,” she said, resolute, “Something simply must be done.” 

“Yes, dear.”

“Is that a ‘yes, dear, I want to go back to playing with my duckies’ or a ‘yes, dear, I’ll get right on it’? “ She demanded.

“Yes, dear.”

“Good.” She got up and went to the door. He followed her. “I’ll give you one more hour, and then I’m sending our Bill to drag you to bed. Understand?”

“Yes, dear.” He bussed her on the cheek and then closed the and locked the door.  
“Woo, that was a close one.” He mopped at his brow, and kicked the books aside so his companion could roll out. 

“Christ,” said Percy Weasley, “I thought she’d never leave. Pass me that whisky—I need a drink while I get the feeling back in my feet.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, young man,” Arthur said. He dumped the ducks into the old canning sink and pulled on the pump handle.

“Sorry, Dad,” his son said. “What are we going to do?” 

“I think a good scrubbing will work.”

“Not the duckies.”

“I know.” Arthur stopped pumping and looked down at his boy. “Think you can fix all that? It’d make your mum happy. Happy wife…”

“Happy life,” said Percy, running his dusty fingers through his red hair. He took a deep swig of whisky and said, “Yeah, but it’s going to be messy.”

“Son, don’t even try to pretend you don’t enjoy messy,” Arthur turned his attention to the largest ducks first. Was that tree sap or gnome poop? 

“Yeah, I do. All right. Weasleys’, watch out!"


	2. The Great Cookie Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George has it coming. Percy has his regrets, and his doubts, but the framing of George Weasley for the Vanishing of Cookies is neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no good reason for the time skip, other than Percy really needed a Veela minion.

One Year Later

 

Victoire Weasley, age five, grinned up at her Uncle Perce. Percy grinned back. It was a friendly, conspiring smile that few people ever saw cross Percy’s face.

“So,” He said, “let’s go over the plan again. Fake enchanted tarantula?”

“Check,” chirped the little Veela.

“Innocent look of betrayal?”

The girl’s eyes became shiny and large. Her lips quivered. Then she resumed her previous grin. “Check.”

“Bag for the cookies?”

“Check!”

“Right! We’ve got one chance to do this—let’s do it right, hm?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

He opened the hall closet and glanced from side to side. He eased out, and strolled into the kitchen. Hermione, Fleur and his mother were making sea salt chocolate chip cookies for the Witch’s Guild meeting.

“Mother,” He said in his best Prefect voice. “I believe George may be after your cookies.”

His mother glanced up from her mixing bowl. “Surely not, Percy. He’s been quiet all day.”

“Lulling you into a false sense of security, no doubt, Mum. You know George.” He shook his head sadly over his mother’s naïveté.

Right on cue, Hermione bristled. “Percy Weasley, it can’t possibly have escaped your notice that the twins’ birthday was yesterday. He’s been quiet because he’s depressed.”

“I do know my own brother’s birthday, thank you, Hermione.” Percy sniffed. Fleur took a sheet of cookies out of the oven. Percy’s mouth watered. “Still, as Moody always would say, ‘constant vigilance’. “

Hermione really did look like she wanted to beat him over the head with the spatula after he said that. Baby sisters were so adorably violent, especially baby sisters who firmly believed their brother was the sort of coward who stayed out of a war.

Molly said indulgently, “Quite right, sweetheart. Why don’t you go check on George yourself, and make sure he’s not getting up to mischief.”

Percy nodded, and strolled out into the yard. “Hello everyone.” His brothers, sister, and Harry were playing a game of pick up quidditch in the yard.

Charlie snorted. “Percy, please tell me you didn’t go to work today.”

Percy glanced down at his immaculately pressed dress robes, and flicked away an imaginary piece of lint. “Charles, for the government to run smoothly, it is important that the cogs, such as myself, never stop turning.”

“You’re going to die from overwork,” snapped Charlie.

“Or boredom,” said Ron.

“You would do well to model your self after Harry,” said Percy severely. “Harry has a real sense of duty.” Harry had a real sense of misplaced guilt, thought Percy. Best nip that shite in the bud right now. “Why, Harry, in a few more years, you could be just Dad, but with a better job! A fat, jolly child, a lovely house in the suburbs, neighbors who keep the most tidy of gardens...” He trailed off glancing significantly about the yard. The Burrow, as usual, seemed to be sprouting broken bits of this and that rather than Hydrangeas. He looked back at Harry, who appeared to have seen a ghost.

“Whatever,” said Ron, scowling.

Ginny snapped, “Harry is a hero, unlike some people. He doesn’t need to work at all; he does it because he is a role model for coming generations. Everyone will want to be exactly like him.” Harry, Percy was relieved to see, looked even more ill at that pronouncement.

“Well,” he said, “I am ever so grateful that at least one of you don’t feel like running a toy shop is an acceptable living.”

“You’ll be glad to hear, then,” said George in a deadened voice, “that I’ve decided to close and liquidate Wheezes.”

“What?” cried the others. Harry said, “George, you can’t!”

Damn. So his source had been correct. “Well, if it’s what you want to do, George, I think it’s the wisest course of action.”

“It’s not,” said his brother, “but I just can’t stay in Diagon Alley anymore.”

“If I were to come help,” said Harry hopefully.

“I need a full time partner, not a weekend warrior,” George said. “It’s just too much work by myself, it’s not fun by myself, and I hate the gawking, Harry. I hate it.”

Harry nodded, looking thoughtful.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Percy.” said Charlie darkly.

“Well, if you don’t enjoy my company, you can always go back to Romania and play with your little animals,” Percy said.

“I was a beast master— a conservationist, Percy. I have more education and qualifications than you have! I just think I shouldn’t leave the family. Not after—well, everything.”

“Let’s just play quidditch, man,” said Ron. “Ignore him.”

Percy wandered over to poke at Hermione’s Auror revisions on the picnic table. “Don’t touch that,” called Ginny, “she’ll go right spare.”

“I’m merely tidying up,” he sniffed. He quickly slipped the twitching tarantula out of his pocket and put it under Ron’s towel.

He headed back inside, George slipping in the door right before him.

“How’s Angelina,” Percy said.

His brother shrugged. “Right enough, I suppose. How’s Oliver?”

Percy said, “I ran into him last weekend.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” George looked impatient. “Look Perce, Ollie, he’s a great guy. He really is. But I don’t think he’s ready to settle down.”

“He just hasn’t met the right person yet,” said Percy. He struggled to keep his face straight. What sort of person was right for his mad Scottish best mate, he just didn’t know. Shame old McGonnagall was so...well, old.

George sighed. “And what will you do when he meets the right person, hm?”

“I would of course be happy for him, George.” He’d laugh hysterically and then promptly befriend the lady, whether she wanted it or not. Married to Ollie, she’d need all the help she could get.

George nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “Right, Perce.”

Percy and George wiped their feet on the doormat in the mudroom and then continued into the kitchen. “Yum, Mum, those smell divine.” George stuck a finger into the bowl of cookie dough and his mother smacked him with a wooden spoon.

“Salmonella, Georgie!” She fussed. “Percy, dear, you were right. Such a good boy. Would you like a cookie?”

“Thank you, Mother, but no. I do not want to get pudgy.” He patted his flat stomach. Just then, a scream rang out from the backyard. The women dropped what they were doing and hurried out the door. 

“George, as men, I feel that we should lend our aid to the delicate womenfolk,” Percy said pompously. His brother looked at him like he was crazy, and stomped upstairs. Percy hurriedly emptied a tray of cookies into the foil lined merkitty sack hanging on the nail by the door, tucked a towel over the cookies, and then put a few plastic dolls on the towel. He then went to fetch his briefcase from the living room. He heard the women bang open the door of the kitchen, and his mother screamed “George Fabian Weasley!”

“What, Mum?” George came pounding down the stairs. 

His Mother began to swat him with her wooden spoon. “Spider—you know how Ronnie gets about spiders! And our cookies! You rotten, rotten boy!”

“Ow, Mum! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I left Percy in with the cookies!”

“A likely story.” 

“No! I swear! Ask him!”

Percy strode into the kitchen, swinging his briefcase. “Yes, Mother?”

“George here says that he left you with the cookies.” Hermione, Ron, Fleur and his Mum stared expectantly at him.

He leveled an unimpressed look at his brother. “He would say that. What’s this I hear about a spider?”

“George put a toy spider in Ronnie’s cooling towel,” said Molly. 

“I never did!” said George. “Look, check his stupid briefcase.”

“George Weasley, don’t blame this on our Percy.”

Percy sighed dramatically. “Look, just to clear my name…” He put the briefcase on the counter, and flicked open the latches. He opened it and showed everyone in the room the briefcase. A folder and a Biro were the only contents.

“Grams?” Came a small voice from the doorway. Victoire Weasley stood there in her favorite mermaid shirt and shimmery blue fish scale leggings.

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Why can’t I have a cookie?”

“They’re for a grown up meeting, baby.”

“But Uncle Georgie took a whole panful.”

“I did not, you little—“

“George Weasley, you had better think really carefully about what you are about to call my daughter,” hissed Fleur.

“Angel. Little adorable angel.”

“Did I get you in trouble, Uncle Georgie?” Victoire widened her eyes and her lips trembled.

“No, kiddo,” sighed George. “Did you come in for something besides cookies?”

“My mermaid bag! I’m taking my dollies out to play with grandpa’s ducks.” 

“OK, honey.” George lifted the bag full of cookies down and handed it to her. “Awfully heavy,” he said, handing it to her.

“That’s the Dollies’ picnic. Thanks, Uncle Georgie.”

“Wait, Dear, let me give you a plate of cookies for your dolly and ducky picnic.” Molly put four cookies on a plate. “Percy, why don’t you help her out with these?”

“Of course, Mother,” he said graciously. He took the dish and bowed deeply to his niece. “Shall we go, Princess?”

“Of course, my chevalier!” They headed out the back door. “So adorable,” Fleur sighed behind them. Then George started squealing in pain as all three women set upon him with their spatulas.

Percy and Victoire hurried into the Shed, and Arthur Weasley slammed the door behind them. “Well, kids?”

“We are master criminals,” declared Victoire, giggling. She lifted out her dollies, and removed the towel with a flourish.

Arthur clapped. “Well done, you two. Let’s dispose of the evidence before the law catches up with us. He took three paper plates out of his snack cupboard and counted the cookies out. “That’s 3 each for me and Victoire, and 6 for Perce, because he risked life and limb on this mission.”

“Uncle Perce,” said Victoire, stuffing a cookie in her mouth. “I wanna grow up to be just like you.”

Percy laughed and ruffled her hair. “Oh, no, your daddy is much cooler then me.” He carefully wrapped foil around his share of the loot and stuck the bundle in his briefcase. “I’ve got to get going, Dad. Paperwork, y’know.”

“You’re coming to dinner at Shell Cottage tomorrow, right, Uncle Perce?” Demanded Victoire.”

“If my princess still wishes for me to be there?”

“It’s a date,” mumbled Victoire around her second cookie.

Percy hugged his father, and headed out of the Shed. “I wish, kiddo,” he muttered. “I wish.”


	3. Busted!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the diaries of Perceval Weasley: Note to self- never dance like no one is watching. Someone probably is, given that I have six-wait, seven- siblings.

Percy skipped along his apartment hallway, swinging his brief case. He skidded to a stop outside of his apartment door and rooted through his pockets as he sang “shake shake shake...shake shake shake...yo bootay!” He found his keys and did a victory shimmy.

He heard sniggering coming from the end of the hallway. Familiar sniggering. Oh, Lord. He looked up to see his two youngest siblings and Hermione Granger sticking their heads through the fire escape door.

He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Maybe he could salvage it. “Hem hem. Do pardon my...exuberance. I achieved significant progress in cauldron bottom regulation today—“

The three baby siblings (for Hermione was every bit as much a sister as Ginny) cracked up.

“Merlin,” gasped Ron. “I can’t believe I fell for your act so long!”

“I told you,” said Ginny elbowing Ron, “stupid, he’s our brother, not some kind of changeling. You’re so busted, Perceval.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about, Ginevra.”

“We’re talking about your cute little trick with the fake spider,” said Hermione.

“I was more impressed by the cookie heist,” said Ron. “Hey, do you have any left?”

Percy sighed, defeated, and popped open his briefcase. “Here, brats.”

The three came forward to select a cookie each. “Mm.” Ron moaned as he chewed. He reached for another, and Hermione slapped the back of his head.

“Bad piggy!”

“I’m just hungry! Been ages since lunch.”

“Oh, like the last time you stuffed your maw was lunch.”

Percy sniffed. “Does Father know you have performed such vile acts on our mother’s person, Ronald Bilius?”

Ron and Hermione gaped at him. Ginny cackled. “Percy, doll, you and I are going to get along just fine.”

He leaned against his door. “Okay, what do you want?”

Ron folded his arms. “We want in on whatever nutty scheme you and Angelina have going.”

“Angelina and me?! I think you may have me confused with another brother. His name is George, bout this high, only has one ear.”

“Bullshit, Percy,” said Hermione. “We overheard you at the Leaky last week.”

He groaned. “Ah, fuck, I told her we shouldn’t talk about S.P.E.W. In public like that.” Where had his finely tuned sense of paranoia gone? 5 years of peace was enough to make anyone complacent, he supposed.

“And what does that acronym stand for?” Hermione huffed.

“Why, the Society For Protection of Elvish—“

“Bat Bogey,” said Ginny threateningly.

“Okay, okay.” He unlocked his door and held it open for them. They sauntered inside and collapsed on his couch. He put the kettle on and selected his favorite mug—the one with merkitties that Victoire had gave him last Christmas.

“I’ll tell you, but first, this is a secret you can’t tell anyone. I will mess your shit up, if you so much as hint. Second, I did not pick that incredibly stupid name. Ollie’s a dick.” He dropped a tea bag into the mug and poured water over it.

“That is no way to talk about your secret crush,” Ginny smirked at him.

“Ollie and I shared a dorm room for seven years at Hogwarts, and he’s my best mate. If I loved him that way, we’d own a twee cottage in the Cotswolds and have four children by now.” He slumped in the lawn chair across from the couch. “I’d name them all improbable Shakespearean names, to fuck with Granger here, and because Ollie likes to recite Macbeth’s monologues when he’s drunk.”

“Oh, is that his favorite play?” Hermione leaned forward. “Mine is As You Like It.”

“Oi, swot.” Ron poked her.

“Oh, all right. So, S.P.E.W.?”

“Save! Pester! Enjoy! Weasleys!” Percy punctuated each word by punching his fist in the air.

“Um, Perce, you’re a member,” said Ginny. “If it’s a secret society to save Weasleys, shouldn’t you not be a member?”

“It didn’t have a name when Ollie and I started it, and then when the others got involved, they decided I could be their mole.” He stared moodily at the three on on the couch. “To torture me, no doubt.”

“So what are Spew’s main goals?” Ron yelped when Hermione punched him. “Hey!”

“Don’t call it that, jerk.”

“It’s not even the same club, Mione!”

“Children, bat bogey,” said Ginny. “Well, Perce?”

“To get George to ask Harry to be his partner, to get Harry to quit being the fucking martyr he is, to help me win over my secret loves, to get Bill back in the field for Gringotts, to get Charlie to go back to Romania, to get you three the hell out of Britain, to get Mum and Dad to retire to France...or Egypt, wherever Bill and Fleur choose to raise their little monkeys. I am not picky.”

The three gaped. “Say what now?” Asked Ron.

“Ron,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child, “You three hate the attention. Harry is slowly killing himself. George is unhappy. Charlie is so bored he might actually drink himself to death—“

“No, no.” Hermione shook her head. “We’ve been trying to achieve the same goals. Well, not the one about your secret loves, as we couldn’t agree as to whether you really were madly in love with Wood. I shipped it, Ron and Gin thought I’d lost my mind.”

Percy blinked. He leaned over to put the mug on the floor and then leant back, folding his arms. “Hermione, you and Ron have been studying like mad for the Auror exam—“

“Yeah, about that,” Ron interrupted. “We passed that ages ago and then decided to say fuck it. We’ve been studying runes and wards instead, so we can get jobs with Gringotts, far, far from here. But we can’t leave Harry and George like that, and George and Charlie think if they are the first ones to leave, Mum will kill them, and then herself in some sort of suicide-homicide thingy.”

He didn’t even know what to say to that. “Okay,” said Percy. “Ginny? Your whole, Harry, let’s get married and be just like Molly and Arthur except wealthier and prettier thing?”

“Please. I’m trying to give Harry a good scare. That’s what he thinks he wants—he doesn’t get that Mum and Dad are awesome because of who they are, not what they do. He thinks he wants to be the Dursleys, except if he realized that’s what he was picturing, he’d drop dead in shock, which is only slightly better than fossilizing in the Ministry.” Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Right,” Percy said weakly. “What are you trying to get Harry and George to do?”

“Gabrielle says there are amazing toy stores in Paris, and George would fit right in. Harry—look, he never got to play with any toys as a kid, and he’s always tinkering and fixing up my old ones,” said Ron. “Inventor, repairman, magician at children’s party’s, whatever.”

Percy nodded slowly, “I was picturing Harry as more of a Wheezes stockboy, and George’s boytoy, but, yeah, I could see that.”

“Boytoy?” Ginny said, looking downcast. “You think—Harry might be—Gay?” She started to sniffle.

He cast his eyes desperately around the room. There! “Accio Kleenex!” The tissue box zoomed towards him and he put it knelt in front of his little sister, holding it out awkwardly. Maybe Marc was right, and he did need more furniture. “Look Gin,” he said, “ even if he wasn’t gay,” she buried her face in her hands and started sobbing, “I, uh, think you could find someone more suited to you. Maybe more, um, spirited.” Ginny would suck Harry dry, and not in a good way.

She peered out between her fingers, “R-really?”

“Yes!”

“M-maybe you’re right. Maybe Cormac McLaggen w-would be better.”

His face froze. Cormac McLaggen? He was a total dick! Suddenly his sister burst into giggles. She dropped her hands—her eyes weren’t even wet! “The look on your face, prat!” Hermione and Ron were shaking with suppressed laughter.

He dropped the Kleenex and narrowed his eyes. “Y—you’re joking!”

“Yes, dummy.” His sister tossed her head. “I’m not fifteen. Harry is like my brother. It’d be like Ron marrying Hermione.”

“Ew,” shuddered Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Right back atcha, Ronnie-kins.”

Percy plopped himself down in the ratty carpet. (Maybe Marc was right, and he did need a throw rug.) “Okay. Did you three want to join Spew,” Hermione twitched, “or are you just here to gloat?”

“We’re not making progress,” said Ron, “especially with Charlie and Bill. We were thinking mutual aid society, but hey, I’ve always wanted to wear a spew badge.”

Ginny coughed, “Right. Life long dream.”

Hermione growled. Then she sighed and said, “Ron is right. You actually know how to play them, and got further with Harry in three minutes than we did in three years. Besides, we can’t figure out how to convince Mum and Dad to move.”

“We’ll get to that when we get to that.” He couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they realized that was the easiest part. “Okay. Well, first meeting is in a top secret location in the Muggle world in thirty minutes. Can you make it?”

The three nodded, looking intrigued.

30 minutes later...

Percy sauntered out of the tube station, looking bored. His baby siblings trotted after him, like little ducklings. Oh, nice—that’s what he’d call them.

“So,” said Hermione, “Why the Muggle world? Are the other members Muggleborns?”

“Uh, no.” Percy abruptly turned right. The ducklings nearly collided with each other. “Sometimes we just have an incredible thirst for...”

“Knowledge?” Asked Hermione eagerly.

“Ale?” That, of course, was Ron.

“Anonymity?” Ginny stopped to peer into a shoe store window display.

“Boba tea.” Said a voice straight ahead. “C’mon Perce, we’re almost late.” 

“I am never late, Ollie,” He threw his arm around his best mate’s shoulders. “The real party starts when I arrive.”

“Yeah, but if you wanna keep your bullocks, you don’t make Bell mad. What’s with your Tagalongs?” They entered the tea shop.

“Please, do refer to them by their proper title: Little Ducklings.” The Little Ducklings squawked behind him and Ollie chortled.

“All right, what be your little ducklings doing here?”

“They’ve never had boba tea.”

Oliver gripped his chest in shock. “Never? You poor deprived duckies!”

“I have, actually, thanks,” Said Hermione annoyed.

“Good, you can pay for your own, then,” said Percy. “Anyone else want to go Dutch?”

“Actually, I just remembered, that was chai tea I had,” said Hermione.

“Just order something,” said Ollie.

“Order for us,” said Ron hopefully.

“Four matcha milk teas with mango boba, please.” Percy told the cashier. They got their drinks and moved to the back of the restaurant, where the rest of the co-conspirators were arguing over whether Mexico or Sweden were going to win the Cup this year.

“Flint?” Squeaked Ron.

“Chang!” Yelped Ginny.

“Pucey,” said Hermione with utter and deep loathing.

“What about us?” Demanded Katie Bell.

“Yeah,” said the blond boy next to her, “I am beginning to think they don’t even know my name.”

Angelina Johnson, sitting on his lap, said “Honey, I know your name.” 

 

“Angie, as flattered as I am, God is not my actual name.”

Marcus Flint groaned. “Shut up, Fleet. Weasley! Why are they here?”

Percy sprawled next to him in the booth. “Because Angie has a big mouth.”

“Oh, yes, she does,” sighed Herbert Fleet. “But also hot, wet and tight.”

“Ew.” Said Hermione. “Angie, as a fellow Gryffindor girl, and human being, you can do so much better than this mouth breathing pervert.”

Angie cackled. “Honey, I know.” She flashed the ring on her hand. “Pucey proposed last night.”

“Yes, so you’ve told us a million times,” said Cho Chang. “If I hear the dreamy story of how he pretended to find that rock in your twat again, I swear, I’m going to buy your kid Chudley Cannon onsies.” She slurped tapioca pearls through her straw.

“Um, Percy, these are your fellow spew members?” Asked Ginny. “Have you lost your marbles?”

“Years ago,” he agreed. When the ducklings stared at him, clearly wanting more details, he sighed heavily. “Look, there weren’t many people in the upper years—I dunno if you noticed—because a lot of our would-be peers either died or were taken out of the country during the first war. Ollie and I were the only ones in our dorm. Angie’s brother was a year above Marcus, and so she tagged along a lot with him. Katie is her best friend. Herbert Fleet,” he waved towards the blond boy, who waggled his fingers at the ducklings, “was Cedric Diggory’s best friend, Cho is an obvious connection there, and Cedric was the only kid near my age at home. We’re all quidditch nuts, even me, and in normal school years—ones that did not involve Harry—we got together a lot and played pickup games—ergo, Marc and Ade.”

Ron said, “You never tried out for the house team!”

“Mom and Dad didn’t have the money for the broom, Ron, and I didn’t want to make them feel bad,” snapped Percy. He softened his tone, adding, “I like watching more than I like playing, and I was like Bill. Never going to make a career out of it.”

“Oh,” said Ron. He scrunched his brow. “Wish you said something at home—now I feel like we excluded you.”

“No,” said Ginny. “Charlie and Bill used to get him to play. He just didn’t play much with us, because Mum expected him to keep the twins out of trouble.”

He nodded in agreement. “Safer to do that with both feet on the ground, really.”

His friends laughed. “Those twins, man.” Adrian shook his head, sounding fond.

“Yes,” said Ollie sadly. “Those twins.” Everyone fell silent for a moment.”

“Okay,” said Cho, voice brusque. “What are you doing here? Joining us, or busting us, or what?”

Percy raised his brows at Hermione. She said, “Turns out we were trying to do the same things as you, just failing harder. We’re in.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “We can be your Harry experts.”

“But,” said Ginny, “seriously, you’ve got to tell us who Percy is madly in love with, because I got nothing.”

Flint sniggered. Percy thumped his head on the table. Angelina, twirling a cornrow around one finger, told them.

After a few moments of stunned silence, in which Percy was really worrying the younger kids might disown him then and there, Ron leaned in. “Oh, that one’s easy.” He grinned craftily. Hermione and Ginny giggled. Percy felt a sense of foreboding.


	4. The eve before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is surprised (pleasantly), and Kingsley falls prey to the machinations of SPEW.

Percy raised his hand to knock on his boss' door, praying Director Croaker was in a good mood. Well. In a tolerant mood. Algie Croaker in a good mood was a little like a gleeful Lucius Malfoy, or a curious Arthur Weasley; it could mean yet another sensitivity training workshop for the whole Unspeakable Department or the downfall of civilization. 

"Just knock already," hissed Herbert behind him. 

"Before he realizes we're here," said Marcus. "Otherwise, he'll do that thing where he opens the door before you knock, and assign us to one of his insane pet projects. We can't have that right now, Perce."

The door swung open, and Algie Croaker grinned horribly at them. "Now, why would that be, gentlemen? Are you so very busy primping for Pucey's wedding?"

Percy lowered his hand. "Um. No, sir. May we speak to you? In private?"

Croaker eyed them speculatively. "I need a reason, boys."

"I will always appreciate your mentorship and guidance, but I wish to give you my two weeks' notice," said Percy. 

"He's pursuing his true love, his destiny, his half naked sheikh in the sky, his goddess on the moon." said Herbert.

"And we're going with him," said Marcus.

Percy spun around to scowl at his friends. "Hey! Bertie, you said you'd be professional! And Marcus- you can't quit, you dumbass. You have children, and what about Katie! She'll-"

Marcus jabbed Percy in the chest. "No, listen, you're the dumbass! Thinking we'll just watch you jump into the deep end without us. Katie is the one who pointed out we'd all be sad sacks of shit if the Weasleys left and we stayed behind."

"We'd be so bored," said Herbert earnestly. "Without your calming influence, why, I could backslide and dye Lucius's luxurious locks bright pink. He'd murder me, go to Azkaban, and Narcissa would cry. You'd go down in history as the man that made Lady Malfoy cry. Is that the legacy you want?"

"I think Narcissa would laugh," said Croaker from behind Percy. "And then probably convince Arthur to break Lucius out. Then they'd have to go on the lam, together, and Molly would cry. Percy, do you want to go down in history as the man who made your mummy cry? Really, is that the legacy you want?"

Percy turned back around and scowled at his boss. Croaker never passed up a chance to tease him about the fact he had pretended to disown his family in order to protect his parents from his job as an Unspeakable. In hindsight, he should've asked Croaker what his father's clearance was, but how was he to have known his own dad was secretly the Assistant Director of the Unspeakables?

"Oh, lighten up," Croaker said cheerfully. "It won't happen because I'm going to do you a solid, and be helpful."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Percy asked. "What's this going to cost me?"

Croaker tapped his nose. "Come in to my office first. The walls have ears, gentlemen."

Warily, the three younger men shuffled into the office. Croaker hurriedly shut the door and then went to stand behind his battered desk. "All right. Well. I think your old man deserves his retirement, Percy. He's not as young as he used to be."

"He's younger than you," Percy pointed out.

Croaker ignored him. "I can just see him and his Mollywobbles retired, pottering around a little cottage in, hm, the Cotswolds perhaps."

"He'd be bored out of his mind," said Marcus. "Wouldn't it just be easier, not to mention less destructive, to set fire to the Cotswolds right now?"

"Perhaps Lucius could buy a little cottage next door," said Croaker. "And I could buy one across the way. Our wives could start their own chapter of the Witches' Guild. Perhaps sew quilts for, I don't know, the Minister."

"Rosamund sews," said Percy. "Rosamund Croaker. The same witch who thinks a pestle is a prehistoric dildo."

"Oh, she just said that so Molly wouldn't make her help with the bake sale," said Croaker airily. "Anyway. Sometimes we have to do unpleasant things in life to make the people we care about happy. Rosamund belongs to the Unspeakable chapter of Witch's Guild to make Molly and Narcissa happy. I will let you lot leave to seek your fortunes. You will get Kingsley to fire you and Arthur, so that Arthur doesn't retire to the Cotswolds. He needs to retire somewhere he won't be bored, Percy. Somewhere with a decent library, and somewhere I can move without making it look like I miss the daft bugger or Molly."

The threesome stared at him, befuddled. Finally Marcus said slowly, "I'm sure I'm going to regret this. But why?"

"Because Arthur is absolutely obnoxious when he's smug," said Croaker. "And Molly might start thinking Rosamund and I like her. Merlin's saggy balls, can you just imagine what she'd do then? We'd get sweaters for Christmas. Sweaters, Percy." He looked ill at the thought. "There might be caroling, and eggnog, and good will to all."

"No, why would you move?" said Marcus. "You're the director."

"Because life without Weasleys is no life at all," said Croaker, flinging his arms wide. "Bertie, your words brought about a very personal epiphany for me. I pictured life without Weasleys. Ugh. Life with Lucius Malfoy as my Assistant Director. Double ugh."

"We're your senior field agents," said Bertie. "If Arthur and you retire, then Lucius is the only one left. Shouldn't you give him more notice? I mean, we plan to move as soon as possible.''

Croaker grinned cagily. "Would you warn him if you planned to die his hair pink?"

"No," drawled Bertie. 

Croaker clapped his hands together. "Exactly!"

Percy sighed deeply. "So, in other words, you're only going to let us leave if we help you prank my father and Lucius."

"And if you tell no one," said Croaker. "You know those two. Paranoid. Should even a whisper of our conspiracy reach their delicate, shell pink, easily burnable ears...why, it could be fatal."

Percy groaned. "Fine. Whatever. Does Paris appeal?"

"Rosamund has always adored France," said Croaker. "We were supposed to go there on our honeymoon, you know. And then life happened." He sighed. "Oh, how the years do pass us by, gentlemen. Perceval, I hope when you are my age, William does not turn to you and say, "Dear, if only you had taken me to see the lights of Paris, I would be willing to wear that fetching red negligee. Alas, I've grown accustomed to my great aunt Rebecca's Victorian woolen gown."

"Red would clash with Billy's hair," said Percy dryly. "And which of these bastards told you I was in love with Bill and Fleur?" 

"Son," Croaker said pompously. "I am the director of the Unspeakables. It is surely my job to know of your unspeakable passion for-"

"Oh, shut up," Percy wrestled a hysterically laughing Bertie into a chokehold. 

"Knock it off, idiots," said Marcus. "Sir. How do you plan to approach Shacklebolt? The man considers Arthur his friend, and he doesn't know Arthur is one of us. He'll squeal to Arthur or Molly the first chance he gets. And if you approach him here, well, Lucius will hear about it through the grapevine by the end of the day."

A slow, sinister smile spread across Croaker's face. "Ah, yes. Who would Kingsley trust? Who could approach him on this very eve without arousing suspicion?"

"Adrian and Angie," said Marcus. "Oh, fuck. You know what they're like, sir."

"I wanted to leave quietly," said Percy. "Gracefully. With dignity. Make Mum proud, you know."

"When has a Weasley been graceful, quiet, or dignified?" demanded Croaker. "No, no, that would raise far too much suspicion. We need to make this convincing, Perceval."

"Besides, dignity isn't our strong point, you must admit." said Herbert. "I don't know how to do that."

"Percy doesn't know how to do that either," said Marcus. "Hell, Arthur doesn't know how to do that. S.P.E.W.'s official motto would not be 'what would Arthur do?' if that was the case."

"Since when was that our motto?" demanded Percy. "I don't remember voting on that."

"We ratified it when you went on that bender," said Marcus. "And before you complain, keep in mind that Arthur would not truss you up like a turkey and abandon you on your brother's stoop, naked, with an apple in your mouth. Because that was Ollie's first plan, until I vetoed it and Katie threatened to burn his autographed Wasps' poster."

"I love you, man," said Percy. He adjusted his glasses and clapped Marcus brusquely on the shoulder. "Thank you. And thank you for quitting. Didn't really want to leave you and Bell behind."

Marcus grinned crookedly. "Eh. Wouldn't want Bill to think all of your friends were like our mad Scotsman. And Katie reckons Fleur might like another mother around. For the sake of her sanity, y'know."

"Fleur's not sane," said Percy. That was part of the attraction, he thought. No sane woman could handle one Weasley, much less two.

"Neither is Katie Bell," said Marcus. "But as a happily married man, I'm telling you, it's safer to just nod, and agree, and let them run your life as they see fit."

"Preach, brother," cried Croaker.

"Whipped, all of you," said Bertie.

"You just wait," said Marcus. "Out there somewhere is a Mrs. Herbert Fleet."

"I've already decided to become Mr. Hermione Granger," said Herbert. 

 

The others groaned. 

"And bats'll fly out of my arse," said Marcus.

"That would be an interesting phenomenon," said Croaker, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if young Ginevra's Bogey spell could be altered in such a way."

"Only if you want both my mother and your wife to murder you," said Percy. "Which, fine, your funeral, but you need to live long enough to help me leave the Ministry in disgrace."

"In that case," said Croaker. "We'd best get cracking."

* * *

 

 

That evening, Percy took a deep breath. This was the last normal night that he’d have for a while. Tomorrow, the Conspiracy started in earnest. If it worked, he had a lifetime of these nights ahead of him. If they fucked it all up—if he fucked it all up—there might not be another night like this, ever again. He’d be stuck in his poky flat, alone, with a lawn chair, ratty carpet, and one merkitty mug. _You can do this, Percy_ , he told himself. _You are an awesome brother, Vicky’s Chevalier, and your mother’s good boy. You are your father’s son, and you are a Weasley. Don’t pussy out now._ He tossed Floo powder into the Ministry Fireplace. “Shell Cottage,” he said and spun away.

 

“Percy!” Bill swished his wand, and banished the soot from his robes. Then he put little Dominique in his brother’s arms and slapped him on the back. “So good to see you. Fleur and Victoire are on their way back from the grocery store right now. C’mon, have a seat.” Percy sat down, and looked at the toddler sitting wide eyed in his arms . He could not get over how much he loved these kids, or how much they loved him.

 

His brother sat across from him. “So, how’s work, Perce?”

 

Percy hated this part of the plan. “I may have news,” he said.

 

“Oh?” Asked Bill casually.

 

“Yes, but I’ll tell you when Fleur gets back. How’s work for you?”

 

Bill smiled. “I’ve got some news, too. But I’ll tell you when Fleur gets back.”

 

“Touche.”

 

“Oh, Perce, you spoke French, mi amour,” said Bill. “You know what that does to me.” He wriggled his eyebrows and the brothers laughed. Ginny had spent the first few years of Fleur’s and Bill’s marriage assuming Fleur and Bill were flirting when they spoke French, so the couple had started saying everything suggestively. It had been great fun until Fleur had said, batting her eyebrows,“what do you want for lunch,” in French, and a passing by Perce had answered in the same language, “Ham sandwhich, please.” Ginny dropped her jaw, and demanded to know what Percy had said. Bill leered and had said in English, “He told her where he wanted to stick his salami.” Ginny had immediately gone to tattle to their mother, who had screamed at them for at least ten minutes until Apolline Delacour had managed to stop laughing long enough to straighten the whole situation out. Bill still milked it for all it was worth, because there was no better way to wind up both their sister and mum simultaneously.

 

“So, any news on the love life front, man?” Bill knew he shouldn’t ask; Percy was the touchy sort, and they’d worked so hard to get Percy to come to these dinners. Fleur would murder him if he scared his brother away now. But Charlie and George were insistent that Perce was pining for Ollie Wood. He was curious, damn it!

 

“No,” said Percy. He looked bitterly amused. “This is the closest I ever come to the domestic life, Bill.”

 

Bill honestly couldn’t decide if that was good news for Fleur’s newest harebrained scheme, or just really depressing. Percy loved Victoire and Dominique. He looked good with a baby on his hip, as Fleur has said once. He deserved a little cottage, and children, and loving spouse.

 

Fleur and Victoire came through the front door. “Bonjour, Perceval!” Fleur handed her sack of groceries to Bill and swooped in to kiss his cheeks. She hoisted Dominique up as Victoire climbed into his lap.

 

“You came, Uncle Perce, you came!” She cried happily.

 

He grinned, “I will always come when you ask, princess. Are you going to help with dinner?”

 

“Oui! We got pork chops, and apples, and rolls, and funny green leaves—“

 

“Collard greens,” said Fleur.

 

“Well, then, let’s start!” He carried her over to the hooks on the pantry door and let her pick his apron, and snag her own.Then he crouched down to tie her strings in a perfect bow. Bill melted a little at the sight. Yes, his brother deserved his own family. Damned shame it meant their family would lose him.

He forced that from his head and said, “So! Percy! You said you had news?”

 

“Oh, really, Perceval?” Fleur bounced her youngest in her arms.

 

“I think I’m due for a promotion,” said Percy. He smiled shyly. “Kingsley has scheduled an appointment with me at work.” 

 

Bill’s heart sank like a stone. “That’s—That’s wonderful, Perce! Good for you!”

 

Percy said, “Thanks! What was your news?”

 

They couldn’t tell him now. They couldn’t hurt him like that. He wouldn’t come, and now they’d be leaving him behind. Bill felt like breaking down into tears. Beside him, his wife cleared her throat gently. He turned to stare at her. Surely she would see it was all hopeless.

 

Fleur said something completely unexpected. “I’m pregnant again, Perceval. A little boy, this time.”

 

“Fleur! Bill! Wonderful.” Percy hugged his flabbergasted brother and then spun his laughing sister-in-law around Shell Cottage’s kitchen. _You can do this, Perce. You have to do this._

 

* * *

Some time later, somewhere in London, Angelina Johnson impatiently tapped her nails against her parents’ dinner table. She was glad they were thrilled about her marriage to Ade, and all, but she needed to talk to her half brother as soon as possible. Ade covered her hand with one of his, and gave her a warning look. The sooner the adults started chatting, the sooner they could draw Kingsley out of the room for a word.

 

Kingsley dabbed at his mouth, and tossed his napkin on his plate. “Well, thanks for dinner, Mama, as amazing as ever. Angie, Ade, I am so happy for you. Afraid tomorrow is a long work day, so I need to be going.” He collected his dish and utensils and got up to take them into the kitchen.

 

“Wait,” said Angie, “We’ll walk you out. Right, Ade?” Her fiancé nodded and they accompanied him to the kitchen.

 

“Really not necessary,” said Kingsley, as they followed him down the hall. “I appreciate that you’d like me to save you from these Gryffindors, Adrian, but—“

 

“Oh, shut up,” hissed Angelina. “We need something important.”

 

Her brother shrugged. “Okay.” The three went out the door and settled on the front porch. “So?” He prompted, looking at them. They looked worryingly serious tonight. Marriage was, of course, a serious sort of topic, but this was Angie and Ade. The only things they were ever serious about were quidditch and their friends.

 

“You have an appointment with Percy Weasley tomorrow,” said Ade.

 

“I think I’d know if I did, Ade,” said Kingsley, “I’ll see him, though, almost certainly, if you need me to pass news along. Croaker is still having him pretend to be my undersecretary.”

 

“You have an appointment with Percy Weasley tomorrow,” repeated Ade firmly. “People know about this appointment already, man.”

 

“Except me. Okay, fine. I have an appointment with Perce tomorrow. What about, may I ask?”

 

“Percy is quitting the Unspeakables,” said Angie, “He needs you to fire him as your undersecretary publicly.”

 

“Humiliatingly, but not in a way that reflects upon him personally. Politics,” said Ade.

 

“Like, fired in such a horrible way Arthur might actually take a swing at you,” said Angie. “Then, you’re going to fire Arthur for taking a swing at you. Unless he quits. He might quit. We’re sorry, but it’s imperative that you do this and not tell anyone why.”

 

Kingsley stared at them. “What?” He asked incredulously. “Perce loves his job. He’s fucking perfect at his fake job, too. I have zero reason to fire the man—your good friend— even if I wanted to. He’s my friend too, y’know. Arthur’s my friend! The whole damn Weasley clan. We fought, we bled, and some of us _died_.”

 

“Percy is asking you, as his friend, if you care for him at all, to do this as a personal favor. I’m asking you to do this as my brother,” said Angie.

 

“Why?” Asked Kingsley, desperately trying to make sense of it all.

 

“Because,” said Ade, “Some things are worth more than a job. Some things are worth risking everything.”

 

Kingsley stared at them, thinking it over. “Will I ever know why?”

 

“Yes,” said Angie. “If we fuck this up, you’re going to hire them both back and smooth this all over. Percy will explain it himself.”

 

“And if not?”

 

“If we succeed,you’ll know,” said Ade seriously.

 

Kingsley nodded once, sharply. “Tell Perce I’ll see him tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any (hilarious) ideas on how Percy should be fired?


End file.
